


Strength in the Broken Places

by Siriusfan13



Series: Like a Child [2]
Category: Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: Family Bonding, Gen, Old Age, Old Friends, One Shot, Otsu - Freeform, Reminiscing, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:48:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26038165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriusfan13/pseuds/Siriusfan13
Summary: It has been over forty years since Kenshin last set foot in Otsu. Together with Kenji, Kenshin travels back to learn more about themselves, about each other, and about the meaning of true strength. This is a direct sequel to "Like a Child." Thank you for reading. Please review!I've been doing this for years, and I'm still really bad at summaries...
Relationships: Himura Kenshin/Kamiya Kaoru, Himura Kenshin/Yukishiro Tomoe
Series: Like a Child [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1890052
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	Strength in the Broken Places

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing Ruroken. After this many years, I think we should all be on the same page about this by now:P

**Strength in the Broken Places**

* * *

" _The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places."_

_-Earnest Hemingway_

* * *

_Otsu-1909_

It had been a long walk-beautiful in autumn's painted landscape-but Kenshin was tired. His feet ached, and his legs reminded him that he wasn't as young as he once was. He wasn't used to quite this much activity anymore, and his stiff joints and aching muscles protested this change in his comfortable routine. But this was something he needed to do.

He and Kaoru had decided to visit Misao and Aoshi in Kyoto. For the first time in years, Kenji, now a grown man with a family of his own, had decided to join them. Kenshin smiled faintly. It had actually been a nice trip with none of the awkwardness and uncomfortable silences that travelling with his son had once brought. Now that Kenji was older, he had finally warmed up to his father. The aging swordsman sighed contentedly. It had only taken thirty years, but he would take what he could get. He suspected that no small part of his son's concern was due to the fact that Kenshin's body was now visibly breaking down due to his extended use of Hiten Mitsurugi. He'd begun needing help with simple things about five years earlier. Nothing major, but it had alarmed his loved ones who had seemed to think he was some invincible source of never ending strength. They wouldn't listen to his protests that he was only older, that some wear and tear on his body was to be expected, and new challenges were normal. That he was allowed to slow down without the world ending.

Kaoru, worried about her husband's tendency to push himself too hard, had requested Kenji come to the dojo and aid his aging father in certain day-to-day activities. Kenshin was under no illusions that Kenji's sudden desire to help him had been anything other than a favor to his mother at first. Try though he might, Kenshin had never been able to fully connect with his son. So, it had been a surprise when Kenshin had realized that Kenji was finally warming up to him. Kenji was less curt with him, and less eager to leave when visiting. He even began coming over unbidden at times, eventually even choosing to visit for dinner, a chat, or to share a bowl of sake. Kaoru had teased Kenshin that he'd only feigned a need for help to take her son's focus away from her, but he'd seen how pleased she was. Their awkward distance had saddened her as well.

This trip had been one of Kenji's surprise connections to his father. Kenshin had voiced his interest in visiting Misao and Aoshi while he could still make the trip. Kenji had fallen silent at that, studying his aging father, the man that time had never been able to touch... before all at once, the years seemed to have taken hold of him. His shaggy red hair was starting to go silver, and there were noticeable lines on his face. He was thinner, too. None of this should have been too surprising, honestly. Kenshin was sixty years old now. Aging was natural, and he was one of the oldest in his group. But something must have struck a chord with Kenji, because his son had abruptly offered to join them, stating that he hadn't seen their friends in nearly a decade-he had stopped joining his parents on their yearly pilgrimage to Kyoto when he'd gotten married-and it would be nice to reconnect with old friends now.

Kenshin had relished the fact that Kenji had included him in the smile usually reserved for Kaoru only. He had responded with a warm invitation that the young man should bring his family. Kenji had declined, stating that he wanted to have a little time alone with his parents while they travelled.

Kenshin's smile at these words had spoken volumes.

He had not mentioned to either of them that he planned on making one other trip while they were visiting Kyoto. That he would be revisiting the one place that he'd told himself he would never see again. In fact, he hadn't breathed a word of it until after they'd arrived in Kyoto, waiting until the actual day of his pilgrimage to explain. Quietly, he had told Kaoru that he was going to take the day to visit his old cabin. See the old town.

For anyone else, it would sound like a day of reminiscing, but she had known what cabin he'd meant-what town-and had fallen into a thoughtful silence.

Finally, she had smiled, asking when they would go.

Then he let the other shoe drop as gently as he could. She wasn't to come.

Kaoru had been adamant that he not travel alone, especially so far outside of Kyoto. He couldn't find words to explain why it mattered so desperately that he did.

It was then that Kenji, who had been respectfully observing the conversation in silence, had stepped in, suggesting a compromise. He would accompany his father as far as the town. If Kenshin still desired to be alone after that, Kenji would wait for him, and they would travel back to Kyoto together afterward. They could probably even catch a ride most of the way to ease some of the strain on his father.

Reluctantly, Kaoru had agreed, and Kenshin had found this compromise to be acceptable. It was better than his original plan, honestly, as Kenji knew little of his history in that bustling town. More importantly, Kenshin had realized that if he didn't share some of the story soon, he may run out of time.

The trip had begun unremarkably, beginning with a stop at the cemetery, and quiet prayers at a simple grave. Kenji had paid his own respects, not knowing the significance. He'd been told years ago that this was one of hitokiri Battousai's victims: the only accidental victim. He'd never questioned it again. Accidents happened, and his father had always been a bit peculiar. Death was not unusual during times of war, even the deaths of innocents. But his father was a man who believed in protection and sacrifice. Of course he would offer prayers for this victim. Incidents like this would have hurt him.

As they were leaving, Kenshin had studied Kenji a moment before asking his son if he was interested in hearing the story of that grave.

The younger man had considered accepting, more to humor his father than anything, but another story of the Bakumatsu was not something Kenji really wanted to hear. It didn't matter that this would be the first time that his father was the one telling the tale. Kenji was certain that by now he'd heard them all from one source or another, and while he truly wanted to bond with his father here and now, the past was just that… the past. It had no place in their present. He had politely declined, and Kenshin had simply smiled and hadn't asked again.

They'd shared a cart with an old vendor who was travelling up the Tokaido the fourteen or so kilometers to the village to sell his wares. Kenji had glanced quizzically at his father when Kenshin had asked to be let out a short distance from the outermost buildings. They had passed this town on every trip to Kyoto from Tokyo, never stopping. Kenji himself had once suggested they take a brief rest here; but the look on his mother's face and the quiet, though firm, refusal from his father had brooked no disagreement. He couldn't understand why they were now, inexplicably, visiting Otsu.

As the old cart clattered away into town, Kenshin had stood a moment, gazing at his surroundings. It had been over forty years since he'd last been here. It had been a lifetime ago, and he'd been a different person. He thought he'd be ready to finally return, but now he wasn't sure. For many years it had been guilt and pain that had stopped him from visiting. Then it had been the concern that in returning, he would taint the few good memories he had of the place. These people had liked him once, but he couldn't imagine anyone in Otsu now believed the scarred redhead they'd allowed into their homes was a simple apothecary or a kind friend. Hitokiri Battousai's description was too well-known. And so he had waited years until the assassin was only a legend, put to rest. Until he'd grown old and his hair and scar had faded enough to draw less attention. Until those remaining in the village who would possibly know him and worry were even older and even greyer than he was.

He had expected to feel the pang of loss and the disorienting passage of time. He hadn't expected this quiet peace to fill him. True, the place had changed much in four decades, but somehow it seemed to have remained the same in all the ways that mattered. His expression must have wavered, because Kenji had gently put his hand on his father's shoulder, quietly asking if he would like a companion after all.

Kenshin had smiled up at his son, now a handspan taller than he, and, thanking him sincerely, declined the offer. He needed to do this alone, he confirmed. Kenji could go to the market or get something to eat at one of the soba houses. Kenshin didn't plan on being long. He simply had a few places he needed to visit. Just a few clearings heavy with importance in his mind. At Kenji's request, he had detailed their locations in case for some reason he was late in returning and his son began to worry. These places were no secret. He'd promised he would be back before dark. It was only three stops after all.

And so he found himself alone on the path, tired and worn, but grateful to finally be healing the last scars on his soul.

* * *

Kenji paced the bustling market uncomfortably. He'd considered taking his father up on the suggestion to get something to eat while he waited, but he'd noticed how tired his father was lately, and he realized that if he waited, he'd have an excuse to slow the man down when he was done with his mysterious business. They could both share a meal, talk together, and rest.

The young man smiled sadly at that. Why had he taken so long to get to know his father? Even he didn't understand. He supposed it was just that his father had so many secrets in his past. How could he be expected to get close to someone who so routinely refused to be honest about himself? Kenshin had been a prodigy, brilliant with a sword, admired by everyone. Yet the man acknowledged none of it, and Kenji had never understood. Other men would have been proud of their accomplishments, their connections. His father had seemed to want to forget them, and would never explain why. First Kenji had been too young to be told. Then he'd been too hot-headed to listen. Then he'd just stopped caring. His mother had been his favorite. His father had merely been frustrating.

It hadn't been until his father had physically begun to weaken that Kenji had tried again to connect. For some reason it was easier now. Long nights spent thinking on the subject had eventually led him to a theory as to why. Growing up, he'd felt that his father had been someone to idolize, but not to speak to. Not to love. He'd seemed to be ashamed of the part of himself that Kenji was most proud of. Now, the man was old and tired. Weak. Kenji had come to help him, because his mother had asked him to. He hadn't wanted to come. Hadn't wanted to see his idol crumble.

To his surprise, it wasn't until his father's body had begun failing that Kenji could finally see the true strength of Himura Kenshin. When his father had needed help, and hadn't been ashamed to ask for it. Hadn't been afraid to let his son, who had never seemed to really care, see him at his worst. That was when Kenshin had actually seemed the strongest. Because anyone could be brave when his body was strong.

Kenshin was strongest when he couldn't fight alone. He was brave enough to call for help. And he was kind enough to still care.

When his father's health began to fail, that had been when Kenji had learned that he'd loved his father all along, and that his father had always loved him. He wished he'd been able to see it sooner. He worried they wouldn't be able to make up for lost time.

Kenji wandered absently to a stand with small toys for sale, considering purchasing a bright top for his own small son, Shinichi, to make up for his absence. He sighed, running a hand through his reddish hair, darker than his father's had been, but still bright enough to earn stares, which he'd certainly been getting in this village, especially from the old men and women who eyed him warily. He just ignored it. He'd grown used to it by now.

"Himura-san?" It was a woman's voice behind him. Tentative and inquisitive. Unafraid.

Kenji jumped when he heard her and turned to see a woman in her early fifties, studying him carefully. "I'm sorry. Can I help you?" he asked politely.

She blushed, averting her eyes. "I apologize," she said quietly, bowing politely. "How silly of me. I'm mistaken. Of course you aren't Himura-san. You're much too young." Her brow furrowed slightly as though a sudden realization had struck her. "He'd be older than me, of course. I'm not even sure if he's still alive…" Her eyes flashed up to his again. "You just look so like him… forgive an old woman and her cloudy memory."

She'd already turned to walk away before Kenji found his voice and blurted out, "Wait. You know my father?"

She stiffened and spun around, her eyes meeting his. "Your… father?"

He nodded, taking a step toward her. "You do know him, don't you? Himura Kenshin? How?"

She studied him carefully as a delighted smile broke out across her face. "Himura-san had a child! I'm so happy for him. He'd be such a wonderful father. He was so sad when he left. I remember being worried." Her expression darkened. "Especially when we eventually learned who he really was."

She looked into the young man's eager eyes, seeming to realize that she still hadn't answered his question.. "Himura-san was a friend. He and his wife lived here for a short time during the Bakumatsu before she…" The woman glanced away for a moment. "Well, I'm still not sure about those details..."

Kenji stared blankly at the woman. "I'm sorry," he replied slowly. "You must be mistaken. My mother's never been to Otsu, and she was only a child during the Bakumatsu."

The woman smiled gently. "So was he."

* * *

Kenshin had expected the first clearing to be the hardest for him. He hadn't expected that he'd almost miss it. Over the years, trees had grown up where the cottage had once been, and the path had been nearly overtaken by underbrush. It had only been after carefully retracing his steps twice that he'd found the faint remains of a path, and had picked his way through the brush until he'd quite literally stumbled on its foundation. The brush was green and lush where the charred wood had fed the soil. The stone underneath, still black.

Even so many years later, he could still feel the heat of that raging fire. Still see the blaze he'd set as he'd erased his past once again. All evidence of his existence burned away to ash as he'd left that life behind. He ran his hands across the bark of a strong tree trunk, vibrantly alive because of the destruction of this cottage.

And something finally, _finally_ quieted in his mind. He'd made peace with his past. He'd lived comfortably with it for decades. But this moment, seeing that strong young tree growing out of the destruction he'd caused the old cottage… he could see his very existence in these charred ruins and this strong tree. And the guilt he'd still carried, guilt he'd thought he'd buried years ago, finally made way for a deeper sense of peace than he'd ever believed possible as he recognized that his destruction of their hut had brought about this greener part of the forest.

He closed his eyes and smiled a moment, gently running his fingers along the rough bark before turning quietly away and slowly moving on to his next stop.

* * *

The woman's name was Owatari Kayoko. She had lived in Otsu her entire life. Like most of the others in the village, she was grateful for the travellers who brought business to their town, but still wary of the strangers who came and went as they picked up provisions for their trips along the Tokaido. Normally, she avoided these travellers beyond what was absolutely necessary. She had no business with them. Wanted no business with them. A long time ago, it was travellers like these who brought danger to Otsu. She'd lived through the Bakumatsu. She remembered.

Yet for some reason that he didn't understand, she had insisted on buying Kenji a meal. He'd protested, but she'd given him that look he'd learned to never argue with. The one his mother regularly gave his father, and he'd quietly and meekly agreed to her offer.

Now they sat awkwardly in a cozy soba restaurant, sipping tea and awaiting their food.

Kenji cleared his throat uncomfortably. "So you say you knew my parents?"

She smiled faintly, her eyes on the teacup in her hands. "Your father and his wife, yes."

He sighed, some of his old impatience surfacing. "That's different?" he asked simply.

She made eye contact. "You tell me. Your father was an apothecary in our village during the Bakumatsu. He didn't live here long, but he was well-liked. Well-respected. He saved a number of lives. We were very grateful to him."

Kenji shook his head, tugging on his ponytail absently as he often did when he was frustrated. "During the Bakumatsu? My father saved lives? No offense, Owatari-dono, but are you certain we're talking about the same man?"

She smiled gently at that. "You picked that up from him, didn't you?" she asked quietly.

"I'm sorry?"

"The honorific. You picked that up from him. It was old-fashioned and far too formal, even when I was young, but he always used it. It's one reason he was accepted so quickly into our village. That and his skill with medicines."

Kenji just stared at her, puzzled. "He's no apothecary. He was never an apothecary."

She sipped her tea. "Of course he wasn't. He was a hitokiri. The deadliest hitokiri of the Bakumatsu. That is the Himura Kenshin you know, then?" Her gaze was alarmingly earnest, and seemed to bore into him.

"No. Not really," he found himself admitting. "But that's what he was during the Bakumatsu."

"Not while he lived here. He was a quiet young man whose eyes were too old for his face. He grew the herbs he used to make medicines, and then he would bring them to the village to sell. Sometimes we couldn't wait until his weekly visits, and we children would be sent to bring him to our homes to help ailing friends and family. No matter the time of day or night, he always came." Her expression was distant as she remembered. "I'm not sure how he learned the skill. I remember the adults talking about how he'd become more confident and skilled in the time he was here, so I suspect it evolved from some rudimentary knowledge he'd already had. Or perhaps his wife taught him."

Kenji coughed a bit at that. "You keep mentioning his wife. My mother was only eight years old at the end of the war." He met her eyes, his hands tightening on his teacup. He wanted to know more about his father, but this mysterious wife Kayoko kept mentioning made him feel more distant than ever before. He'd known that his father had his secrets, but how much had he kept hidden? Still he found himself unable to find the right words to ask. Instead he stated simply, "You know he was no apothecary; he was a Choshu assassin."

She nodded. "Yes. We didn't know until after he left, but it didn't take long to figure out that his cottage was a safe house. He was hiding from someone until he could safely return to Kyoto. Once the men in the village pieced together what had happened, they went looking for him, but he was already gone. He'd burnt down his cottage and had disappeared."

Kenji had been about to respond, but a serving girl arrived just then with a steaming bowl of soba. He politely thanked her, and began dishing out some of the fragrant noodles. "So," he began, quietly. "He burned down the cottage…" Kenji glanced back up into her eyes. "Probably to cover his tracks."

"Probably," she replied mildly.

"And this wife you keep mentioning..." He took a deep breath, finally forcing himself to voice his thoughts. "She was probably just another part of his cover while he was here."

The older woman quietly served herself some soba before thoughtfully responding. "I don't think so. I remember the day he left. She was gone, and he was… pained. He was hurt and angry and distracted in a way I'd never seen before. But I was only a child then, and I didn't understand. Not really. Since then, I've seen variants of that pain many times. You don't hurt that badly if you don't care. He loved her, Himura-san. Whether or not he really married her, I couldn't say. But he loved Tomoe-san."

His brow furrowed as the name tugged at his mind. He funneled another mouthful of soba into his mouth. Where had he heard it? One of the Oniwaban stories? No. He was certain it wasn't. Perhaps a tale of his fathers, then… He thoughtfully slurped the noodles..

_The grave marker.._

Kenji suddenly choked on the soba he'd just been attempting to swallow. "Wait. What did you say her name was?" He had suddenly blanched at her words.

Kayoko's eyes widened. "Are you all right, Himura-san?"

"Her name," he choked out, drinking some of the water that was set out beside him. "What was it?"

"Tomoe. At least, that's the name she gave. Since your father used his true name, I assume hers was real as well."

Kenji didn't answer, his mind drifting back to the simple grave of Himura Battousai's only accidental victim that they'd visited that morning, whose story Kenji had refused.

* * *

Kenshin had slowed his walk as he'd moved deeper into the forest. They called it the Binding Forest, and not without good reason. It was said that the forest had properties that confused a person's ability to properly sense ki. He had firsthand experience in these woods. Even now, when there were no enemies and he was just an old man walking through a lonely forest, the knowledge that he was unable to sense anyone who approached him was disconcerting. Even the general feel of energy around him was muted and warped. It gave the woods an almost haunting feel.

He quietly trudged down the long path, resting occasionally when exhaustion began creeping up on him. It had been even harder the last time he'd travelled this way, of course. But that time had been for an entirely different reason. No longer were explosions and ninjas keeping him from his goal. Now protesting joints and aching muscles were all that slowed his steps. He sighed tiredly, rising to his feet once more. Kenji was not going to be pleased when they met back in the marketplace. Kenshin had pointedly failed to mention how much walking he would be doing on this trip. He hoped they'd be able to get a ride back to Kyoto. Otherwise, he was seriously considering renting them a room at one of the inns. Kaoru would have a fit if he couldn't find someone to send word to her before nightfall, but Kenshin knew he was in no shape to walk all the way back to Kyoto this evening, and this trip was taking him far longer now than it would have even ten years ago.

His thoughts were cut short as he stepped out from among the trees. The old structure in this clearing still stood: The old Yaminobu base. He walked to the engawa of the structure and eased himself down on the stoop before the door.

 _If they came for me now, they'd have an easy time finishing me._ The thought crept into his carefully controlled mind. It was not untrue. Hitokiri Battousai was no more. Even the wandering swordsman Kenshin was gone. He was an old man now. A father. And a husband…

But he'd been a husband back then as well, and _that_ was exactly what had caused him to fight so fiercely.

His eyes scanned the empty clearing, trampled and trained on for so many years that, unlike the cottage in the woods, this ground was unable to support life. The complete focus on death and destruction, on revenge and blood money, on power and strength... _that_ was what had killed this particular clearing.

 _But I've put that behind me. I survived here because I had someone to survive for. It was the same reason I was able to defeat my shishou during the ougi._ He smiled faintly, thinking of the cranky old recluse. The old man seemed to age like a mountain: slowly, and only in the fine details. But now, this man-the only father Kenshin remembered, was finally showing his years. And still the man was strong. _That's what you were trying to teach me for so long, Shishou. Strength isn't all in the body. Strength is in the heart. My will to live, and my need to protect those I love are what power me, far more than mere muscle and bone._ His smile grew. _And don't think I don't realize that the reason you didn't die that day was as much your will as mine. You had the same will to survive as I did, because you had someone you still wanted to protect, too, didn't you?_ The old man would die before he admitted it, but Kenshin knew it was true, and the thought warmed him.

Kenshin stood stiffly, placing his hand on his lower back and twisting a bit until he heard it quietly crack back into position. He'd spent enough time here. He'd gained what he could from this place.

His eyes scanned the clearing once more. Allowing himself one last memory of that painfully cold day. It had been decades, but the fight was still vivid in his mind. Perhaps because it was limited only to his emotions, his drive, and his pain. The rest of his senses had been dulled. He'd fought with his heart and soul. It was all he'd had left.

And he realized that old though he now was, perhaps he might not be as easy a target now as he'd initially thought. If he'd arrived and the Yaminobu had held Kaoru here... or Kenji, or even his aging Shishou, Kenshin knew he'd have found reserves of strength he'd never dreamed still existed.

He closed his eyes and listened to the breeze rustle through the dry leaves all around him. Felt it brush against his face, and tug lightly at his faded hair.

It was time to leave this dead place. He was done here.

* * *

It had taken Kenji some time to compose himself. Now they both ate mutely as he processed this new information. His mother had clearly known about this Tomoe. All three of them had stopped at that grave on occasion on past trips to Kyoto. She had offered prayers for the dead with his father. Kenji had followed suit, completely uninterested in this girl's story.

He slurped the soba thoughtfully. He had always known that his father had lived an entirely different life before settling down and starting a family. But the version of that life he'd always imagined had been that of a brilliant swordsman and skilled assassin. He'd associated his father's strength with his history. But this was an entirely different Kenshin than he'd ever imagined. His father, fifteen years old, farming and selling medicines in a quiet village with a wife. Helping save lives in a small village with his medicines. Respected for these simple skills. Quietly loving this woman by his side.

" _Her name is Yukishiro Tomoe, Kenji-chan," his mother had told him quietly, when he'd been old enough to understand why they had to come and stand in this graveyard every year. "She was…" She'd trailed off, glancing up at her husband._

_His smile had been tired, and he'd simply added, "She was one of hitokiri Battousai's victims." At his son's wide-eyed stare, he'd added gently. "I didn't mean to hurt her. We come here to remember and honor her. I'll tell you more when you're older if you still want to know."_

Kenji winced slightly. He'd never asked again, chalking it up as another Bakumatsu legend. He'd heard enough of those, and hadn't been particularly interested. His father had a way of talking about the revolution that made him not want to ask again.

He noticed Kayoko studying him. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'm being rude. This is just… a lot. My father doesn't speak of the revolution much." He paused and added, "Did you know them well? My father and… Tomoe?"

She smiled. "Not his wife. She was very quiet and stoic. We were only children then, so her quiet formality frightened us a bit. Your father frightened us at first, too." She stopped as though trying to choose the right words to describe him. "When they first arrived in Otsu, I remember he spoke to almost no one. He bought what he needed and left the market. He wasn't so much older than us, but there was something about him that just seemed ancient. It might have been the old fashioned way he spoke. His archaic honorifics and excessive formality. But I think it was more his eyes. He looked like he'd seen things that even the old men of our village couldn't imagine. Hoji had nicknamed him the 'old man of the mountain,' because his face seemed so old and tired sometimes." She chuckled. "I still can't believe we called him that to his face. The first time Hoji slipped and said it out loud, your poor father was speechless. We were all terrified. He was an adult, after all. Then, of all things, he laughed." She smiled and shook her head. "It was the first time any of us had heard him laugh. It was a nice sound."

Even Kenji had to chuckle, trying to imagine the stunned look on his teenage father's face as a child, likely not much younger than he was, called him an old man. "I'll have to borrow that nickname sometime."

They both laughed a little, and the mood lightened a bit. "He was a kind man, your father. We didn't know what to think of him, but every one of us eventually took to him. He would play with us sometimes. Other times he would just talk or tell us stories. He was the only adult who would take time out of his day just to be with us."

She shook her head, her expression growing more somber. "It was so strange to me when I heard the description of hitokiri Battousai a few years later. We'd heard rumors of assassins in Kyoto. We suspected there were some dangerous goings on in our woods. We'd even heard of the Battousai by then. He was supposed to be some sort of monster.

"Government officials came into the town one day asking questions. Looking for him. They said they knew he had been here, and they demanded details. Our elders told them we'd never had dealings with hitokiri Battousai. They must be mistaken." Her eyes grew unfocused as she thought back a moment. "Then they told us what he looked like-a small man with red hair and a cross-shaped scar." She traced the lines across her cheek. "The last time we'd played with him, that second cut had still been fresh. He wouldn't tell us how he'd gotten it. We only knew that his wife had left, and he'd be leaving soon, too."

Kenji leaned forward. "So the elders knew, then. They must have. What did they tell the officials?"

She sipped her tea quietly again before replying, "They told the officials that there was a mistake. No one of that description had ever been in Otsu. They were in the wrong village."

"They… lied for him? But why?"

She shook her head, smiling. "I told you. He saved a number of people in our village. He was polite and respectful. They'd discovered some ninjas dead in a nearby forest shortly after Himura-san had left, but that was all. He had helped our village for a year. Then he disappeared. That was how our elders thanked him. They tried to buy him a little time to escape whatever the government had planned for him."

Kenji processed this for a moment. "Thank you," he said finally, setting his chopsticks down. "For the meal. For telling me about him." He paused. "For helping him when he needed it."

She shook her head. "No. I was only a child. The adults helped him. No one asked me anything." She laughed a little hollowly. "Who would imagine this deadly hitokiri spent his time playing with children? Why would they ask us?"

"I know my father, Kayoko-dono. Probably not as well as I should, but I know him well enough to be able to tell you how much it would have meant to him that you trusted him. He's hard on himself. He needs people to just talk to him sometimes. To remind him that he's a person like the rest of us. It took me far too long to realize that."

"Well…" she pushed her bowl away, and stood, her cheeks flushed a bit, and said, brusquely, "I think we are all guilty of misunderstanding our parents sometimes. I doubt he'd hold that against you." Her expression grew thoughtful again. "I just wish I'd had a chance to talk with him again. I'm glad I was able to meet you, though." She dropped some coins down on the table as payment. "I've kept you long enough from whatever business you have here in town, Himura-san."

"Kayoko-dono," Kenji said suddenly, "he's here."

"What?" Her eyes widened and she flushed again. "He's...?"

"He's here. He wanted to see Otsu one more time, and I volunteered to go with him. He's not quite the man you remember. He's much older now, and not physically as strong as he used to be, so I really didn't want him to travel this far alone." He smiled a little wryly. "He really is getting to be your old man now. I was waiting in the marketplace so he could reminisce in peace." He stopped a moment, thinking back to his father's instructions. "I know where his last stop will be. If you'd like to meet him there. I'm sure he'd be happy to see you."

* * *

His eyes scanned the open field, empty and peaceful. It had been a long walk back through the woods to get to his final stop, but it was worth it. This was where they used to play. No children were here now, but it really hadn't changed much. He could still hear their laughter, and he could still remember chasing them, pretending to be out of breath, so they could catch their own. Pretending to be the demon or the dangerous ronin or any number of other villains that they created in order to gang up on him and pounce. More than once, he'd allowed them to drag him to the ground in defeat, a squirming pile of laughter and joy. Playing in this clearing had been his only taste of childhood, and he had relished every moment of it.

This place had been one of the happiest memories he'd had for many years, and he'd come back to visit it in his mind many times during his travels. He'd been certain the memories must have faded by now. Imperceptibly changing over time into something unrecognizable from the reality of his past, but amazingly they hadn't. This was the field from his mind's eye. The memories were vivid and real. He could almost hear the little ones calling to him. "Old man," they'd shout, as they always had. He smiled gently. If only they could see him now... they'd finally be right about that one.

He felt her approach a moment before he heard the crunch of feet on dry grass and stone. Before he heard her tentative, awestruck voice.

"Himura-san? Is it really you?"

He turned slowly to see a woman in her fifties staring at him in open wonder. She clearly remembered him, but was unafraid, which was a relief. He wasn't sure what his status was in their memories. He was certain Otsu was the first place certain people would have looked when he'd gone missing after Toba Fushimi, and he'd felt guilty for giving these townsfolk reason to worry about their safety, and the safety of their children.

_The children…_

He studied her closely. There had been only one girl who had played with the group of boys all those years ago. "Kayoko-dono?" he asked quietly, awed by the astounding coincidence that one of those children might be here now.

She nodded, an expression of delight brightening her face.

With that, he recognized her beyond a shadow of a doubt. She'd always had that same bright smile, and her wrinkles couldn't hide it now.

She approached him quickly now, stopping right before him, and studying him thoughtfully. She didn't see his thinner frame or his greyer hair. He was still the same man she remembered, despite the changes in him that Kenji had warned her about. This was her kind friend whom she'd never dreamed she'd have the honor of seeing again. "You came back after all," she said quietly. "I always hoped you would."

His expression softened further, and he motioned her to follow him to a fallen tree near the edge of the field. "Let's sit, and talk," he said softly. He chuckled, adding, "I really am old now, and I've done enough standing for today."

She laughed gently. "You're not so old, Himura-san. You really aren't much older than me, are you?" She sat beside him on the old tree trunk, studying again the grey that now threaded its way through his faded red hair. The lines on his face. "We never really knew your age, and we never thought much about it. We were children. Adults were all ancient. But when they came looking for you… after…everything… they said the man they were looking for-Battousai-was only eighteen."

He stiffened a bit at those words. "You do know, then." It wasn't really a question.

She didn't look bothered by the knowledge of who he was. She simply nodded. Then shrugged. "It didn't matter, really."

His eyebrow quirked a bit. "It didn't matter that you spent your days playing with an assassin?"

She smiled sweetly at him, reminding him of the innocent girl she had been. "Himura-san, if you'd have wanted to hurt us, you'd have done it. But you didn't. We were honestly probably safer playing with you than we were playing alone."

They sat together for a long time, just enjoying each other's company like old friends. Finally she spoke. "You won't be coming back again, will you, Himura-san?"

"No," he replied honestly. "I probably won't. This is a long trip for me now. I just needed to see it one more time."

She nodded. "I'm glad you did." After a thoughtful moment, she added, "I met your son." At his obvious start, she added gently, "He's the one who told me where to find you. I was glad to hear you had a child. You were always so good with us. It would have been such a loss if you didn't have any of your own." She gently patted his hand, drawing his eyes back to her. "And I'm glad you're still alive. When we learned who you were and saw who was looking for you… we feared the worst." She stared off at the violets and reds of the setting sun, simply enjoying the company of her old friend beside her. "You were always so kind. The war destroyed so much. It would have been terrible if it had taken you, too."

He was touched by her words, and by her simple faith in him, but there were things she didn't understand, and it didn't sit well with him to leave her with a false picture of him in her mind, however sweet it was. "You didn't know me that well, Kayoko-dono," he said simply. "Remember that the life I was living was a lie. I was in hiding. You only knew the person I pretended to be. You didn't know Battousai."

She looked at him for a moment and then shook her head. "No. I don't think that's true. You were different with us than with the adults. I think you pretended with them. You seemed genuine to us. It's harder to lie to children." She studied him again, then added, "You're probably right that we didn't know Battousai. But I think we knew Himura Kenshin."

He had nothing to say to that.

Finally, she added gently. "Your son is a good man, Himura-san. He's a lot like you. I'm glad to have met him. And I'm glad to be able to talk to you again, even if only for a short while." She stood, sighing. The sky was getting darker as the sun sunk behind the trees. "I suppose we should head back. Would you like company on the walk, Himura-san?"

He nodded. "Thank you."

She gently helped him to his feet. Her eyes met his as he straightened, and she smiled. "By the way, Himura-san… welcome home."

* * *

It was nearly dark by the time Kenji saw Kayoko and his father enter the marketplace. He'd been worrying himself to distraction that something had happened on his father's walk, and had been ready to head to the clearing himself to find them when they'd suddenly come up a rise into his view.

Kenshin looked exhausted, though happy, and Kayoko seemed to be helping him a little to keep him going. Kenji immediately leapt to his feet and hurried over to meet them.

"Father, are you all right?" he asked, taking his father's other arm.

Kenshin patted his son's supporting hand, laughing mildly. "I'm fine, Kenji-chan. I'm just worn out. This was more walking than I usually do in a week. That's all." His words were tired, but his eyes were happy, and he smiled warmly at his son. Kenji could see the man's gratitude for his concern.

Kenji studied the woman beside his father. "Thank you, Kayoko-dono. I appreciate your staying with him."

"Of course," she replied kindly. "We spent the time getting caught up." She then moved in front of Kenshin and bowed respectfully. "I'm afraid I'll have to take your leave now, Himura-san. My own son will be wondering where I am if I don't return soon." She smiled warmly at her old friend. Then she faced Kenji, her expression stern. "Now you take care of him."

The youth chuckled. "Yes. Of course. Thank you, again, Kayoko-dono. For everything"

She nodded. "You, too." She then turned her bright eyes back to Kenshin. "This is good-bye, then." She briefly took his hand in hers. "Stay well, Himura-san."

He squeezed her hand back. "You as well, Kayoko-dono."

She nodded and, turning abruptly, took her leave.

As Kenji led his father to the inn he'd secured, he quietly asked the older man, "Did you take care of all of your business, then? Was it a good trip?"

Kenshin smiled warmly at his son. "Yes. It was more than I'd hoped for." He studied the strong features of his boy, and quietly added, "Thank you for coming, Kenji."

Kenji glanced away awkwardly. "Of course, Father." He paused one moment before adding. "I'm glad I came. It was good for me, too."

They were silent as they walked, each lost in his own thoughts, until finally Kenji asked softly. "Father, do you remember years ago when I was a child at that grave in Kyoto?"

Kenshin's violet eyes silently met the steady blue of his son's.

Kenji took a deep breath, encouraged, and continued. "You told me to ask about her when I was older. I wasn't ready before."

"No," Kenshin agreed. "You weren't."

"Not even today…"

The old man waited expectantly.

"I think I am now, Father."

They were right outside of the inn. Kenshin studied the younger man solemnly before placing a firm hand on his son's shoulder. "Yes, Kenji. I think you are, too."

With those words, they pushed aside the thick fabric of the doorway, and stepped together into the warm, inviting glow of the inn.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Years ago, when I wrote "Like a Child," I had some reviewers comment that they'd like to see a continuation of that fic where the children of Otsu could see Meiji Kenshin. I'm sure they meant 1878 Kenshin, and that's what I was originally going to write, as I was copying some stories to AO3. This, however, is what I wrote instead. I hope you like it.
> 
> I'm actually honest to goodness alive and writing new stuff! Yay! Anyway, a big thanks to sueb262, Shirou Shinjin, and lolo popoki for their invaluable beta work. They are the reason you have something readable before you.
> 
> And thanks to all of you for sticking around, reading, and (hopefully) reviewing. I hope to be posting more soon.
> 
> Dewa mata!
> 
> Sirius:D


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